


hallucinations are not reality

by twistmyleg



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Crying, Cyrus scruntizing everything, Hallucinations, Hugs, I called this "can I just call this sobbing" for a solid week, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Snow, and take him someplace warm, if that's the indication to save Therion please, just save everyone please, okay i'm going to go cry now bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistmyleg/pseuds/twistmyleg
Summary: All it takes is one drink to spill the truth and unveil the sutured heart within.*Spoilers for Therion's backstory, but that's to be expected, I guess*





	hallucinations are not reality

**Author's Note:**

> and all I can hear is stillsnow's theme being super duper peaceful
> 
> anyway hope you enjoy! :)

Chairs shuffling. A glass crashing against the ground, splattering the pungent substance within to the wooden floor. A huff, a scuffle, a bell chiming, and a voice reaching out to the person behind the unwonted havoc. ****  
** **

“Therion, wait!” ****  
** **

There was no waiting to be done; nothing else to say that would make the matter disappear or better than it was. It was irreparable; it had been for as long as the matter had existed, and it would remain that way no matter who decided to try and patch it up. He had already tried that; he was still trying to do it. But it never worked; every attempt would only exacerbate it and force himself further inward and far from a sense of peace. It would lead to a new revelation that only rattled the truth further, or lead to an encounter that brought about distinct memories of the past. Scars that never seemed to fade, but rather become more prominent and open to those that he could not bear to display them to. ****  
** **

It was dark and frigid in Stillsnow, painted in the same manner as Therion’s heart. His arms crossed over himself, his scarf pulled over his mouth and chin yet his breath seeping through in the bitter atmosphere, head down and eye darting across his surroundings, Therion dashed from where he had been drinking just moments ago at the tavern toward anywhere away from that location. Wherever he could be alone to himself and his thoughts, trying desperately to repair the gaping tear in his heart that had just been strewn together again. Unfortunately for him, Stillsnow was not as large as Flamesgrace, and nowhere near the size of -- no, Therion could not afford to think of the city’s name. For if he did, some of the other sutures would unravel; perhaps one too many that would reveal how broken the entire organ was. ****  
** **

Stillsnow was a makeshift city at best, home to a farce seer and a distant friend of Primrose’s. Beyond those two, Stillsnow offered nothing. There was no reason to visit it other than for a sparkling view of the snow. They did not even need to be here. They could be in any other part of Orsterra - was it not time for Tressa’s Merchant Fair? Was Cyrus’ task not of utmost importance, considering the harm that could be done otherwise? Olberic’s desire to see his revenge through was certainly more important than continuing their travels north, no? Perhaps he could attempt to convince them to argue for their tasks to be completed first. The group would have to abide by a different travel plan. They could avoid the northernmost mountains and the city that lay within. They could avoid having to see Therion’s heart bursting open at the seams and unveiling its pitiful contents. ****  
** **

With the tavern being at the center of town, it left a slew of directions for Therion to run in. Heading north of the city led to a snowed over forest, frozen in time and chilled to the bone. Maybe eastward he could catch a caravan and be whisked further away from Stillsnow and his task ahead. Therion could not decipher the directions with his mind in a complete vortex and the sights passing him by in blurs and visions. He was dizzy, disoriented, and nausea threatened to overwhelm his being and force him to the side in illness. ****  
** **

Gods, he should not have taken that offer for a drink. ****  
** **

Corner after corner Therion turned, sometimes seeing the same sights twice or even the same passerby. Everything was the same; gods, why was everything the same? The snow fell as a heavy blanket over the sky and covering the territories that Therion had marked down on their first visit to the city. Everything was pure as snow, but Therion needed something to be impure; something to hide in. He finally found it in a lone alleyway in the far corners of the town. Between two buildings that sold provisions and housing comforts, Therion finally slowed his dash to a halt. His scarf had long fallen from its position around his mouth, dangling closer to the ground. Therion gasped at the air, taking in the bitter cold in the attempts to regain some semblance of himself and quell the rising nausea.  ****  
** **

He listened to his surroundings briefly.  _ His  _ words as he left rang through Therion’s head as he settled behind a stack of boxes and lowered himself to the ground. There were no voices in the vicinity with the intent to pursue him; passerby whispered to each other surrounding the latest gossip and other trivial conversational points about snow. Therion let his head rest against the side of the building and his eye closed. He was exhausted from just a simple run through the city. He could only attribute it to numerous sleepless nights since the events in the other city that should not be named. It was perhaps even worse than the city their group was so set on arriving at. The ache behind the eye was unbearable from numerous different needs it had: to rest, to relax, to cry. ****  
** **

As he sat there, his breathing began to calm as a chill overtook him. Gods knew how late it was, but anyone worth their leaf knew better than to remain outside at night in Stillsnow. The curfew instated was midnight as a result; even the tavern served no more drinks after eleven to ensure dwellers could arrive at a safe and warm location for the night. Temperatures dropped below zero most nights and the snow never stopped to spare a soul. Therion tugged at his scarf and readjusted it over his mouth, sighing into it and feeling the warmth of his breath bounce off of it. Thieves had to dress for the job, not the weather. His poncho allowed for increased evasion from people and cities; his scarf a good cover of his identity. They were the only two shields he had against the cold. It was no wonder he kept his work to southern Orsterra instead. ****  
** **

With his breathing calmed and the nausea not as potent in his throat, Therion let his mind begin to wander to other various figments of his mind; anything that would distract him from reality. It was easy to let his mind drift as the cold bit at his exposed skin and changed its color from a bright pale white to an abnormal light blue. The first figment his mind latched onto was the idea of his friends sitting in a warm inn, doing various activities that drove each other crazy. If he were to walk in at that very moment, he could easily picture what they were doing. Linde would be fast asleep by the fire, with Tressa next to her and stroking her fur. Perhaps Tressa’s eyes would be lidded from constant battles and she would fall asleep on top of the snow leopard, snoring softly. H’aanit and Primrose would be fawning over their adorable positions; H’aanit coaxing Linde to move to their room for the night and Primrose gathering Tressa in her arms to carry her to bed. Ophilia would most likely be helping Primrose, but perhaps she would be invested in one of the books Cyrus had so willingly lent her. It would detail the intricacies of elemental magic and its strengths and weaknesses in combat. Perhaps she would attempt a fireball or thundershock from her position on the couch, but nothing so as to disturb the peace. ****  
** **

The scholar himself would be situated at a nearby desk, head buried deep into dozens of the same scriptures and hand moving as one with pen to translate them onto paper. He would occasionally raise his head and make a quizzical look when there was something that confused him, proceeding to make a noise of intrigue and clicking his tongue before returning to his work. Olberic would overhear his mumblings and offer him the idea of going to sleep from where he would be on the couch. Although his position would be relaxed -- almost asleep on the couch from doing the most battling -- he would have a whetstone in his hand, sharpening his blades for the next day. His eyes would be lidded but focused on the task at hand, scraping every nick and dull point back to its prime. Perhaps he would be keeping a conversation with Alfyn, who would be half-awake on another couch and responding in mumbles. His hair would be out of its knot and relaxed around his shoulders, with the firelight setting it ablaze in gold. His eyes would glance around the room from person to person, a big smile on his face in satisfaction. And his eyes would land on his at the end, inviting him to join him on the couch and relax. Perhaps lean back and be comforted by his touch and all the little nothings that drove Therion crazy. And in all likelihood, Therion would join him, seeking solace in his presence and touch. Gaining the same satisfactory look in his eyes knowing that he was surrounding by wonderful, open companions.  ****  
** **

This was where he let his mind wander off to next, slightly aware of the snow that had begun to accumulate around him. It created a fine layer on his clothing and hair, as if he were a doll left out in the cold. His mind focused on the man who seemed to have it all. Every step he took sent a wave of positivity in all directions. His aura was glowing with the personality and smile to match it. Out of the members of their traveling group, he was the most optimistic. He was the light that brought the group together, giving them all a reason to smile and seek out hope in their destinies. His laughter was melodic and his eyes sparkled like the emerald -- the freshest grass in the Riverlands. His smile had infinite forms, all with the same effect: instilling a notion of warmth within a person. Therion preferred his lazy, sleepy smile the most, if he had to choose a favorite.  ****  
** **

It was this smile that so consistently exceeded Therion’s expectations; shattered the shell he had developed around his sutured heart; gave him a reason to wake up and carry a semblance of  _ peace  _ in body and mind. Hard as he tried to keep himself away and within his shell, there was no escaping the light he radiated from his being. It touched all corners of his hollow self, filling it with notions and sentiments he had long forgotten and sealed away. He comforted him in times of turbulence and rejoiced in his victories when they occurred. He was always at his side, checking on him and providing friendly banter to wile the time away in their travels. Friendly banter transformed into long-winded conversations into the night, discussion dreams and aspirations for the future ahead. Occasional check-ups infiltrated into activities done together, often standing side-by-side in battle and defeating enemies as...a duo. Simple comforts became embraces that lasted longer than they should, bodies moving closer and closer until it was more than just a hug or a hand to hold. It was little kisses on the forehead or deep kisses that sent everything Therion would be thinking of out the window. It was more than he had prepared to face, overwhelming with every turn. But it was a long-forgotten thrill Therion  _ craved _ ; desired so much so as to try and provide his own in return.  ****  
** **

Therion opened his eye, watching as snowflakes drifted from his eyelashes and onto his clothing. Snow had already stuck to the pavement and was accumulating for each time Therion blinked. His mind could not help but wander back to his mistake tonight; Alfyn’s words slowly echoing through his head. It had been a simple offer that Therion often took up: grab a drink at the local tavern and be in each other’s company. It was routine for almost every city they passed by. It was supposedly a good-fortune drink for the upcoming battles ahead. They had not gotten through many mugs before something had slipped from Therion’s throat -- something shameful and well-guarded within his heart. No one needed to know, especially the man of his wildest dreams. But now he knew, and so did a tavern full of people that spectated the event. Stillsnow may be a makeshift town, but gossip spread as fast as the snow could accumulate on the pavement again. ****  
** **

Therion pulled his knees to his chest as shivers began to wrack his body. The snow that had gathered on top of them fell away with the movement, only to land at his side in a small pile. Everything ached now with some sort of reminder he had put himself in this position: his open skin ached for warmth, his eye ached for relief, and his mind ached for nothingness so that he could just exist without burdens. Exist without a package strapped to his wrist and to his heart. He had to wonder what Alfyn was thinking at that very moment. Would he even be trying to search for him after how he had left the tavern? Therion shook his head softly, snow falling from his hair and onto his clothes.  _ After how I treated him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to stay away. Especially now that he knows the truth. Aeber just loves to damn my life the moment it finally gets good. How I’ll even be able to return to him, much less the group, will be interesting in his hands. _ ****  
** **

The wind began to pick up, blowing snow onto Therion and swirling the remainder around him. Therion curled further into himself. His skin burned at the touch of the snowflakes, almost creating a warmth around him similar to other locations in Orsterra. The snow swirled in a circle in front of Therion, wind howling and almost morphing into a laugh in front of him. It was taunting, jeering, teasing at him with sounds of no particular recognition. The snow swirling seemed to be shaping something in front of him; Therion had to blink his aching eye a few times to refocus his gaze on the ever-changing figure. It morphed into a set of legs and arms, connected by joints to a large body and head. The figure did not seem to have any other defining features upon it, save for a smile that grew invidiously wide.

_ “There’s more to the truth than that, mate, _ ”  the figure spoke in a booming voice. It only appeared in Therion’s dreams, if Therion could claim that they were those anymore. He knew the voice all too well. It came to him in moments like these, taunting and jeering with fragments of the past. It invaded every corner of his mind and heart, becoming the definition of his irreparable situation. “ _ You never even told him the best part of it all. _ ”  ****  
** **

“...Go away,” Therion spoke in a voice barely audible to himself. It was raspy from the cold and from his outburst, weakened by a lack of evident hydration. The figure’s smile only grew wider as it began to approach him. Each step it took created a thunderous echo that loosened the sutures in Therion’s heart. It left traces of its path in the snow, only for them to be covered moments later by more snow blewn in its path. ****  
** **

_ “You haven’t the power to send me away, mate. I figured you would know that by now. _ ” The figure stopped in front of him, a cape of snow becoming evident amongst its barely definable features. It covered the building behind the figure with a thick blanket, as well as other notions of the environment that Therion could hold onto. Therion closed his eye. ****  
** **

“If I tried hard enough, I could.” The figure bent down to his level, its cool aura emanating over Therion’s already shivering body. But its effects were the opposite of what Therion would expect: its additional cool provided a sense of familiar  _ warmth  _ to Therion. One that he had always craved; one that he had been able to attain once more, but one that had been distinctly of the past. ****  
** **

_ “We both know you won’t do that. _ ” What could only be identified as the figure’s hand gently caressed Therion’s cheek, dangling near the piece of hair that covered his left eye. It should have sent a chill through Therion, but instead there was a streak of fire. It bordered on agonizingly painful, but there was a sense of pleasure that Therion derived from it. “ _ Open your eye, mate.” _ Therion could only obey. It was so easy to forget resistance when it came to that voice. It opened instantly, recognizing a new definable feature in the figure’s snowy facade:  _ his  _ red eyes. They stood out against the white of the snow, almost as if red boulders glimmering in the sun. They should have been staring at him menacingly, filled with the same venom that Therion was always convinced empoisoned them. But they were gentle and soft against his own; a warm gate to the past hidden within them. “ _ When will you tell him the entire truth about us? About what we were? _ ” Therion’s mind sent off red flags in warning.  _ Don’t trust those eyes. You know the power behind them.  _ ****  
** **

“Never. He doesn’t need to know.”  ****  
** **

“ _ He already knows half of the truth, mate. It’s like I told you: you’ve gotten sloppy. Letting such precious information slip so easily from your tongue. You could never keep a secret for long. The other half will come off of your lips in due time. _ ” The longer Therion stared into those glittering red eyes, the more his surroundings became less clear. It was as if a link to the past, providing Therion with glimpses of what had made his life bearable -- no,  _ enjoyable.  _ Worth living. Worth every moment of his hardships and troubles. ****  
** **

“I already told you. I refuse.” ****  
** **

“ _ Ah, I see. You want his love and approval, is that it? Sounds familiar, I must say. _ ” The hand began to move downward, trailing the remainder of his cheek and over his now chapped and frozen lips. The touch gave a spark into them, bringing feeling back into them where they had been lost. “ _ And if you told him the most dire part of it all, you fear he would drop you for what you are and move along. Abandon you like refuse and kick you to the wayside. _ ” ****  
** **

“Shut up.” Therion tried to close his eye again; to block out the glimpses of the past and listen to what his mind frantically screamed at him to do. But the figure’s hand was faster in tracing upward through his other cheek and using two calloused fingers to hold his eye open. They were callouses gained from days spent battling off potential competitors, self-healed scrapes from tumbles along the path, and mock brawls in taverns and secluded woods, far away from the evils of society. ****  
** **

“ _ I’m right, as I always am.”  _ The figure’s other hand was placed on his shoulder. Even though the warmth was overflowing in pain and blazing to the touch, it sent spirals of pleasure into Therion’s mind. It should not have felt so good. Therion’s mind raised more red flags.  _ Break the situation. Think of something else. Think of anything else. Tressa’s stupid fascination with her journal and the contents within. Cyrus’ droning research on whatever he loves to drabble on about. Olberic’s training habits. Anything but --  _ “ _ Admit it to yourself, Therion. You  _ **_enjoyed_ ** _ it. Every second of every minute. You relished in it.” _ ****  
** **

The snow swirled harsher around them, morphing the scenario into glimpses of the past given by the figure’s tyrannical power. His eye was held open as he was forced to watch how his younger self escaped a narrow death to a wealthy aristocrat, running alongside his  _ partner  _ through the streets and letting out hollers of success simultaneously. How his younger self split the spoils with his  _ partner  _ cheerily, babbling away over their success and his fantastic dagger throw into the guard’s leg to hinder him. How his  _ partner  _ smiled at him sweetly, placing a hand on his own and squeezing, giving him encouragement to keep going. Get better. Keep rising with him and making names for themselves. Following him to the depths of hell and repeating the same cycle for years to come. ****  
** **

He also had to endure his teenage years, where his overly emotional heart did not know how to differentiate  _ partner  _ from  _ lover _ . Glimpses of nights spent in the tavern, drinking away their worries side-by-side came to mind, spilling things from their lips that were once well-guarded and tucked away. How his  _ partner  _ had guided him to a wooded clearing -- one where they would hone their skills, follow up on years of encouragement and sweet smiles, crave more of the same encouragement -- and landed a soft kiss upon his lips on a starless night. Warping his mind around the cycle he had become accustomed to and instilling it as his only motto. More stealing, more following, more encouragement, more soft kisses that turned to something greater and deeper than before. More of the same, more of the drug that could satiate his infinite desire to reclaim what he lost in turning to a thief’s life.  ****  
** **

As these glimpses passed by, the figure morphed with them as the  _ partner  _ beside him. The same familiar partner that he had met in a jail cell and freed, allowed to walk into his life and change everything. Red hair as brazen as the boulders which his eyes reflected, and smile as sweet as an apple, which just so happened to be Therion’s favorite food. His face morphed with each memory, with most depicting the same smile and eyes. It was the face embedded in the darkest corners of Therion’s mind, shackled against the walls of his skull and locked behind a steel door. Yet with each memory, the figure unlocked each shackle and freed the nostalgia to run rampant in his mind. Therion was powerless against it, letting it all come back to him at the figure’s beckoning. ****  
** **

It all paused within a manor somewhere in the Highlands. The specific manor was of no importance in Therion’s mind, but the events there were. Suddenly, the hand that had landed upon his shoulder began to trace specific areas of his chest and arms, whether bare or not. Searing lines of fire were drawn in each spot, illuminating old scars of the past. Scars that had been assigned at this very manor in a storage room far from the desired outcome. Drawn by a dagger Therion recognized and had become familiar with as an asset for many years. Therion’s eye locked with the figure’s, and there was the inevitable, irreparable change that caused Therion to lock away his heart. The venom that had seeped into his  _ lover’s  _ eyes and told him lies of fame and glory. Once impossible dreams now a reality with only the extermination of one key asset to his concurrent success. The scars screamed at him to close off his mind and rid the figure from existence. But they also screamed his biggest flaw: he  _ loved  _ every single one of those scars. ****  
** **

“ _ There’s that same look on your face that you always wore when we engaged in moments like these,”  _ the figure spoke, inflection in line with the venom overtaking its veins. “ _ Always one to please. Always one to crave and desire. Just one scar drove you into a frenzy to satisfy; to do better than you could without them. Reminding you of a future where you could lose everything. Throwing you into a lie that you could never seem to swim against. You may have screamed in pain, but you always held that glint of  _ **_enjoyment_ ** _ with each time I drew that dagger. You warped in time to believe it was my way of giving you what you desired. Always the same sentimentality, Therion. _ ” ****  
** **

And with that manor came more of those: instances where Therion failed to meet his  _ lover’s  _ expectations and paid the dear consequences for it. Night after night of lashings, tirades debasing him as a person and telling him to be better, and the cycle adjusting itself around this new idea of lov--no.  _ Abuse,  _ his mind screamed at him, throwing red flags into every corner it could to break him of his trance.  _ Love in exterior form, abuse in its ugly truth.  _ But Therion always knew he could change something,  _ anything _ , to be better for the  _ lover  _ that brought him what he desired. The more he repeated his mistakes, the more lashings he would receive to the point where that was the only form of love Therion could receive. Nothing led him to a kiss;  _ everything  _ was a mistake.  _ Everything  _ about him was imperfect and in need of change. Be faster. Be stronger. Be less sentimental. Stop questioning. Only follow. ****  
** **

The figure finished tracing all of the scars over his body, leaving nothing behind but pain. Pleasure had all but dissipated as the setting morphed into its final destination: the outskirts of Quarrycrest on a particularly blazing day. The figure was no longer an indecipherable snowstorm, but now a venomous sandstorm in which Therion could only call his  _ love--no!  _ **_Abuser_ ** **,** his mind once more screamed at him.  **_Betrayer._ ** _ The embodiment of everything that destroyed you.  _ The grains of boulders that were kicked up by the winds swirled around them, irritating Therion’s eye but strengthening the gleam in his  _ abuser’s.  _ His ginger hair swayed with the breeze, and his snowy cape -- now a pine green and detailed in its stitching and pattern -- flapped a tale of victory in its wake. The scars all ached simultaneously in knowledge of how this final memory ended. They were in the same positions as they had been; his  _ abuser’s  _ hand moved ever so delicately back to his cheek, sweeping away the piece of hair covered his left eye and unveiling the final untouched scar upon his face. His  _ abuser’s  _ smile returned to the invidious form from before. ****  
** **

“ _ And here we are again. Your mind certainly has a bad habit of holding onto grudges. The end of the line for our arrangement. At your most questionable, at your most vulnerable. Pleading and begging for another chance to prove yourself; to be better. But you had failed in every sense of the word.”  _ The other hand took Therion by the scarf, mimicking the same position as that fatal day. “ _ But you couldn’t forget the  _ **_enjoyment_ ** _ from our relationship. You wanted more of it; enough to fill the void that it kept creating in your heart. Your sentimentality always got the best of you. And it failed to save you. Cut away your source of life; your source of  _ **_pleasure._ ** _ ”  _ ****  
** **

“...stop it,” Therion finally managed from his lips, but it was lost to his  _ abuser’s  _ roaring laughter. The same one that echoed in every waking moment after the end. The one that he had to remember him by. ****  
** **

“ _ And what will this next partner of yours say when the truth spills? How it was not always bad? There was always something to look forward to, and you  _ **_enjoyed_ ** _ every waking moment. How could he not feel betrayed and scarred, knowing that his partner got pleasure from someone else? How - try as he may -- he can never fill the gaping void left in my wake? Never be able to do the same for you as I could? He’ll learn the ultimatum of your stalling - how you can’t bring yourself to kill me in Northreach. How you’d rather keep me alive because of the spare notion that maybe -- just  _ **_maybe_ ** _ \-- I could give you my love again. And what will he do then? You know the answer. You know it as well as this memory. _ ” Bile rose in Therion’s throat. It welled at an alarming pace, reaching the back of his mouth in godspeed time and threatening to spill.  ****  
** **

“...it wasn’t love. It was abuse.” His  _ abuser’s  _ eyes narrowed, just as they had did that day. ****  
** **

“ _ To a normal tea leaf. But you have never been a normal tea leaf, Therion. Partner.  _ **_Lover._ ** ” The nauseating sensation was overwhelming, matching the same pain as his scars. Therion grit his teeth and finally closed his eye. It did not erase the pain nor the image of his  _ abuser  _ in front of him.  ****  
** **

“Don’t call me those things,” he could barely growl.  ****  
** **

“ _ You know you want me to. You always have. And you always will. _ ” The wind increased its pace. The grains of boulders pelted his face with more severity, threatening to cut open the bare skin he barely had a notion of anymore. ****  
** **

“Stop,” he growled, voice raising in its intensity. The environment around him became unstable; the earth shook with potency and the boulders rattled against each other, creating a dull tremble in the distance. ****  
** **

“ _ Partner. Lover. Partner. Lover. Partner. Lover.”  _ The  _ abuser’s  _ finger scraped quickly against the final scar, sharp as a dagger and reigniting the agonizing pain that Therion had locked away from that day. Every scar no longer cried out with a mixture of pain and pleasure; it was all  _ pain. Abuse. Betrayal. Demented markings of a tyrant wishing to assert his territory. _ He could not hold the bile in any longer. ****  
** **

“ABUSER!” Large amounts of colorful vomit spilled from Therion’s lips, splattering all over his poncho and scarf, as well as to the snow around him. Therion’s eye glanced around frantically at his environment: the glimmering boulders had disappeared in place of the buildings surrounding him. His scars still ached, but had simmered to a dull pain. His scarf remained untouched; his hair still over his left eye securely. Therion blinked slowly as he brought his legs further against his chest and curled up against the wall.  _ Another hallucination _ , he reminded himself. They had been frequent with his lack of peaceful sleep in recent days.  _ He’s not here. He’s far, far away in his city. You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re _ \--

But he was not. It had felt all too real. All too much like the abusive days of his past. Therion closed his eye, but it did not prevent the tears from breaking free and rolling down his cheek. They were simmering lines of heat against his frozen skin, now laced completely with snow that had only intensified in the time since he had been there. Every part of his hallucination was the painful truth: for as deceptive as the whole ordeal was, it had not been  _ all  _ bad. It had given him something to hold onto. It had given him a purpose in life. It had given him happiness, and love, and all of the wonderful little things he had never experienced as a lost child in the scheme of the grand world. ****  
** **

And he knew that if he ever slipped the rest of the story to Alfyn, he would drop him in the same manner that his abuser had -- if he had not already abandoned him for the comforts of better friends and the inn. To already know the main stigma put a large crack in their relationship; the rest of the truth would burst the dam open between them. It was an ugly, sordid truth. But Therion had the notion since the beginning of their relationship to guard his heart carefully and make sure only the right words were spoken. Only in such an utopian lie could Therion possibly experience the things he had lost twice now in his life. But it was a utopia in nature: it was too good to be true and idealistic at best. He should have known better than to let him into his heart. Now it was too late to fix the mistake, and Therion would have to live with it. His attempts to cry out more were halted by his tears beginning to cement themselves onto his cheeks. He no longer had any notion of his physical being.  ****  
** **

Maybe that was why he did not notice the soft footsteps approaching and stopping in front of him, bending down to inspect him on his level. Eyes travelling over him with emotions Therion did not know were of concern and sorrow. Lips pursed tight, mind scrambling to find the words to coax him out of his shell. Tears almost falling from his own eyes, but not quite, for he knew the danger of tears freezing upon his cheeks. Skin flushed a crimson red from unknown events; breath run dry from an endless search in an endless snow. The only notion Therion received of their presence was a gentle hand caressing his cheek in the same manner that his abuser had. Except it was not the same. The warmth was not slicing but rather soft. Therion’s eye opened and focused on the man dressed in green. The same man he had left at the tavern ages ago. The man that Therion was convinced would never return for him. Yet here he was. ****  
** **

“...Alf..yn?” he whispered in a half question, half plea of relief. Alfyn’s smile was a different kind of beacon: it signalled hope and a gentle love that Therion had lost tonight. Here, it was restrained but there all the same.  ****  
** **

“Ready t’head back? Yer about t’catch cold,” he asked softly, his voice hoarse from what Therion assumed only Dohter knew. His head made a nodding motion, aware that Alfyn was going to scold him from the frostbite he subjected himself to. Alfyn undid his vest and slipped it off of his being, placing it over Therion as a temporary blanket. His arms gathered Therion with ease -- contact spreading the same warmth as the caress -- and his legs began to dash for the inn across town. Therion’s face was pressed against his neck, nose buried in his vest. It smelled of grassy fields and sunny days. Medications and fresh herbs in the kitchen. Ale and sweat from battle. A combination of the best of Alfyn. ****  
** **

As they went, Alfyn asked him soft questions to keep his mind in reality. His hand would often shake his leg as Therion’s thoughts would drift to somewhere else, or his arm when his eye was ready to close. “You with me, Therion?” he would ask, encouraging him to stay in the present. “Doin’ alright still? Warm enough?” he would inquire, adjusting the vest if necessary to cover more of his body. All the while, Therion had no intention of falling asleep. He could not afford to fall asleep anymore. But for his mind to drift elsewhere as he avoided the looming conversation at hand? He did not mind that so much. Especially as his mind would be lost in the smell of the vest, taking him to days spent in Clearbrook fishing, or in Saintsbridge relaxing in the comfort of each other’s arms. ****  
** **

An immediate blast of warmth greeted them into the inn. The fire burned brightly in the fireplace, grabbing Therion’s attention and luring his body toward its warmth. Alfyn set him down on the couch nearest the fire, leaving his vest to cover him. He disappeared for a moment into a different part of the inn before returning with a large stack of blankets and pillows. There was another person at his side with a similar stack, robes sticking out behind the tower. Alfyn placed the stack on the table, as did the companion at his side. The companion clucked his tongue in intrigue, eyes scrutinizing over his frozen body. Therion did not make a sound toward their direction. Alfyn shook his head. ****  
** **

“Cyrus, that’s not helpin’. Can you fix him a cup o’tea in the kitchen? Preferably camomille.” The companion -- Cyrus, in his inquisitive nature -- nodded with another noise of curiosity before disappearing. Alfyn took each blanket and placed them over his body, which now trembled immensely from its desire to embrace warmth. Each blanket was different from the last in pattern and color, but each were made with the same wool fabric that Stillsnow citizens swore by as their safe haven of warmth. Pillows were placed behind his head and neck in support. Cyrus returned momentarily with a steaming cup and plate. He placed them down on the coffee table beside them and gave a nod to Alfyn. “Thanks fer all the help.” ****  
** **

“Let me know if you are in need of anything else. You know where to find me.” Just as quickly as he had came, Cyrus disappeared into the inn. A door shut faintly in the distance. Alfyn lifted the steaming cup and placed the rim to Therion’s lips. It edged on blazing, to which Therion attempted to pull away from it in discomfort. It was  _ too  _ much.  ****  
** **

“I know it’s hot, but yer body ain’t gonna stop shiverin’ without somethin’ warm runnin’ through ya system.” He blew on the steaming liquid briefly before motioning it again at Therion’s lips. “Just one sip is all I ask.” Therion obliged, doing his best not to jerk away from the scorching liquid that burned his tongue and seared down his throat. The taste was masked entirely from the heat. Alfyn set the cup to the side and gave an affirming noise. “Not so bad, eh?” Therion shook his head softly. ****  
** **

“Too...damn hot,” his lips mouthed barely to Alfyn; the first words he spoke to the man since they had arrived. His eye did not know whether to look at him or not, and his mind did not know where to begin with the conversation. There was nothing they could say that would break the ice easily. His body trembled with more intensity, ignoring the little warmth the blankets and fire provided. He let out a half-hearted sigh and slumped back into the couch, hoping it would swallow him and whisk him away to the thoughts he had before his hallucination: the utopia of innocence and freedom. This did not happen -- as expected -- as he felt Alfyn’s strong and gentle arms wrap around his form and pull him close to his chest. Therion could make out his heartbeat despite the numerous layers of blankets separating them. ****  
** **

“This less hot?” Therion shrugged softly. ****  
** **

“...it’s better.” Alfyn let a sigh escape his lips as his head landed on top of Therion’s, but no words followed his actions. They remained in that position for some time in silence, saving for the fire’s occasional crackle and pop. Alfyn’s hands occasionally adjusted to a different part of Therion’s body: his back where he rubbed small circles, or his hands within the blankets and traced his palms. It was an effective method of returning warmth into Therion, but there would be no method that could undo the chill in his heart. The snow from outside had already encased his heart with a new barrier and filling in the gaps where the sutures had come undone. It kept his heart together; almost in the same condition it had been before he entered the tavern with Alfyn. He could have been content with leaving it at that. But he knew better. He knew Alfyn’s heart would not be the same. His heart -- grand and radiant as it was -- was shattered easily by obstacles that tested his convictions. It had occurred very briefly in Saintsbridge and Orewell, scaring the rest of the group and placing Therion on the other spectrum of the field in comparison. This was an obstacle in their relationship. Not solving it would only expand the issue, much as Therion wished to avoid it. “...I’m surprised you came for me,” he whispered after a long time had passed. Alfyn -- who had been still for a while -- shuffled beside him. ****  
** **

“I wouldn’t have left ya after what happened at the tavern.” ****  
** **

“Not what I meant.” Therion trailed away into silence, listening to Alfyn’s heartbeat as the words sunk into his brain and comprehended completely. A sharp inhale increased his heartbeat to something a bit erratic and abnormal. Therion’s own heartbeat -- languid from the cold and weight of his hallucination -- sparked into action. “The words I said at the tavern...I know those were not what you wanted to hear. I never wanted you to hear them. But...they are the candid truth. As horrible and shameful as it is.” His abuser was right: once part of the truth slipped from his lips, the other came tumbling out with ease. He could not stop himself from speaking again, trying to fill the void that was Alfyn’s silence. “I...I  _ loved  _ him. Every waking moment with him was something out of a storybook. He provided me with something that I had lost long ago: happiness. He gave me a chance. Gave me something to look forward to everyday. Gave me something to hold onto in this small, cruel world. Even if…”  ****  
** **

_ Gods, how would Alfyn even believe the words coming out of my mouth? If he is even choosing to listen at this point? For all I know, he could be blocking my words out of his earshot.  _ The fire seemed to be louder to Therion, crackling as if lightning had struck the ground just before them. The heat from within the hallucination was returning, doing no favors to Therion’s form that trembled even further. His head buried itself halfway under the blankets, hiding unshed tears and the flush of crimson on his cheeks from recalling such memories.  ****  
** **

“...gods, even if the pain was so damn agonizing. Even if he beat me until I was numb and broken all over, I still  _ loved  _ him. I was willing to do everything for him. I dedicated every part of my soul to his happiness and success, all for some simple words of encouragement. It developed a nasty habit of people pleasing within me; desiring praise and encouragement so I could hold onto some sense of happiness that he provided me. For every time he debased me and described me as the scum of the earth beneath him, it only increased my efforts to please him. I was so desperate for what he could provide to me. Any hell that he had to walk through, I was willing to endure all for his sake. Everything I did was for him. It was a warped, demented relationship. One that ended abruptly, leaving a wake of destruction in its aftermath and my broken body -- figuratively and literally -- to pick up the pieces.” Alfyn’s heartbeat had increased in pace to the point of no return; occasionally it skipped over beats as a result. His breathing had become quick and heavy. It normally would have become the signal for Therion to stop, knowing how sensitive Alfyn was toward some of his stories. ****  
** **

But Therion was lost in another hallucination, feeling the heat of the flame creeping behind his neck and setting those little hairs ablaze with its aura alone. It was as menacing as his -- no, the figure of his  _ everything  _ was reforming within the flames, completely unrecognizable save for his laugh. It bellowed throughout the inn, rattling the frozen case of his heart and cracking it open. The organ was falling apart at the seams for each word that he spoke, and the laughter was only increasing. It was overwhelming. Unbearable. Terrifying. And all Therion could do was break a sob from his throat and continue, tears thawed out from the cold. The truth did not know when to quit. ****  
** **

“You saw him in Wellspring. We all know he’s waiting in Northreach, sharpening his dagger to get a better aim at my heart this time. But, gods, can I even look him in the eye and hold a dagger out in retaliation? For as awful as he is; for all the shit he put me through...there’s always that part of me that believes it is a large ruse. That wants to _please_ him. That can’t bear the idea of bringing his life to an end because I _loved_ him. Gods, there’s a part of me that clings to my love for him, and how can I just turn around and fight him after everything he provided to me?” The laughter was at its loudest, ringing in Therion’s ears and causing him to shrink further into the blankets. His tears were streaks of fire on his cheeks, and they would not stop. The heat was just as unbearable; its aura was encircling him in its own embrace, reminding him of everything he had done wrong on the path to the present. ** **  
****

“ _ You’ve never been a normal tea leaf, Therion, _ ” the voice reminded him, injecting venom into his collapsing heart as the string to sew it together again. “ _ Partner. Lover. Fool. Partner. Lover. Fool. Partner. Fool. Lover. Fool. Fool. Fool. Weak. Sentimental. The scum of the earth. Easily manipulated. _ ” The voice morphed into a loud, monotonous ringing noise in his ears, blanking every other noise within the environment. Alfyn’s heartbeat was gone, as was his breathing. As was any notion of his presence. It was only Therion and the  _ abuser  _ again. Therion raised his hands to his ears and covered them in the futile attempt to rid himself of the noise. Rid himself of his baggage. Find some semblance of peace in the chaos. But the noise penetrated his defenses, deafening him and causing a broken scream to erupt from his lips. ****  
** **

“Gods, how could you fall in love with a man that still holds fucking sentiment for their abuser?! I don’t get it! Why would you come back for me?!” The noise intensified, laughter distorted as something inhumane and demonic. Everything was unbearable.  _ Make it stop! Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it-- _ ****  
** **

“ _ And what will he do now? You know the answer, _ ” came the distorted voice, booming reality in his ear and disintegrating all of the sutures that held his heart together. His eye opened, and there was only fire surrounding him. It was all one gigantic cape smothering him, giving him no room to breathe or think. It was suffocating. Therion could no longer breathe. His last breaths went into his final pitiful attempts to exterminate the voice. ****  
** **

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD, DARIUS!”  ****  
** **

“Therion!” ****  
** **

Gods, how he was trembling. Therion blinked with the sound of Alfyn’s voice reaching to him through hell, and the flames immediately dispersed into thin air. The heat simmered to a low boil that originated from the flame in the fireplace. The noise faded away. Therion’s head was spinning, desperate for air that he had not inhaled. Immediately upon inhaling, the same scents of grassy fields, ale, and Alfyn -- gods,  _ Alfyn _ , who was trembling next to him and holding him against his chest as if a grizzly holding onto their dear treasure -- decreased the spinning notion. Alfyn’s heartbeat was all over his chest, beating against it without restraint. There was a wet spot that had formed in Therion’s hair, but the snow had been shaken off of it aeons ago.  ****  
** **

“...Alfyn…?” he whispered after he had enough senses to form a word. It was filled with uncertainty and the contents of his broken heart.  ****  
** **

“None of that is yer fault,” he sobbed, voice barely escaping his throat. “Gods, Therion, ya can’t think yerself unlovable because of that. I fell in love you fer more than just that; hell, everything ya are is beyond his understandin’. That’s all a mind game to bastards like him, and Dohter damn me if I left ya to suffer through it alone. I can’t claim t’understand everythin’ that happened, nor can I claim to understand the complexities of yer relationship with him. I don’t think I ever will. But e’en so, I refuse to let ya beat yerself to the ground and continue to play into his mind game. You deserve so much better than what he gave ya.” Therion shook his head fervently, scattering his tears within the circumference. Scattering the remains of his heart within his body. Except the tears returned within seconds. The remains of his heart would be scattered for good. ****  
** **

“How is it not my fault? I chose to let him stand at my side. Chose to let him walk over me like his stepping stone. Chose to take every bit of pain as the worth of pleasure. I let every bit of it happen. And now, if I even dare to go to that city and take some semblance of a stand against him, I couldn’t hold the dagger to his throat if I tried. The same feelings would well inside me and put on display my pitiful heart as it has now. I deserve to be left behind. Deserve to live with my mistakes. It’s you that deserves so much better than me.” ****  
** **

“I refuse to give up on ya, e’en so.” A simple statement with the power of Winnehild’s Battle Cry. Yet Therion could not understand why it was said. It made no godsdamn sense; his  _ abuser _ was always right, no? ****  
** **

“I’m nothing but the scattered glass on the tavern floor. The vomit from someone’s mouth. The refuse to be thrown off of the precipice. Nobody at best; a mistake at worst. Trying to fix me will only get you hurt, Alfyn. And…” The air around Therion had begun to swirl again. Gods, this was the third one tonight. “...I don’t want you to lose your radiance and optimism over me. It does so much good to so many others that are worth fixing. Worth your hope and love. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it. I’ve never been a person that could love normally. I’m broken. Deranged. Desperate. A fool.” There was  _ his _ voice again, revelling in his defeat and echoing in his mind. Therion said no more, for there was nothing left to say. The entire truth had been spilled from his lips, and what person would stay to deal with it? No fool worth his leaf would. It had proven itself true before. Therion began to move away from Alfyn’s embrace, prepared to find somewhere far away for Alfyn to forget about him. And yet... ****  
** **

“Stop beatin’ yerself up, Therion.” The emotion was vivid this time around: determination. It created a thin yet well-woven thread that looped itself through a sturdy needle. It managed to find two separate pieces of his heart and intricately sew them together. His arms wrapped around Therion tighter, bounding him to his chest. “Look at me, and listen t’me carefully.” Therion obeyed, getting lost in the radiance of his eyes, despite how puffy and red they appeared. The needle had found another piece of his heart and reattached it to the other two. “Never call yerself those things again. Because they are so damn far from the truth, and you are worth every moment. I don’t care how long it takes, but I will help you through this. I won’t let you suffer alone any longer. I will mend yer heart as many times as it takes to prove that you’re worth it.” The booming voice was a distant noise now; only Alfyn’s words had any impact. The air was becoming lighter and bitter with the unveiled truth. The needle continued to scavenge for every piece it could, adding it to the final masterpiece. “Therion, I will love ya for however long the Gods deign us together, which is eternity. And I will show you that it is okay to love another person. It’s okay to want love and give it in return. Love, at its most powerful and wonderful, will never die or transform into something other than its most pure. Mine for ya is everlastin’, and will never change.” ****  
** **

And there it was: the thread was separated from a newly-repaired heart. It was put on display in his chest; almost appearing as the original one. It beat slowly to life, pumping in sentiments Therion had all but lost in his stupor and discovery since Wellspring; since Bolderfall, and since Quarrycrest. Warmth finally returned to his body, instilling a sense of something other than uncertainty into him. Therion kept his eye focused on Alfyn’s, which had leaked more tears. They were what everyone saw in him, but they were so much more. They were magnetizing. They were brilliant. They were gentle and comforting, just as  _ his  _ were years ago. But they were also filled with love; so much that  _ his  _ eyes could not compare in either amount or quality. Therion took in his first breath of the renewed air… ****  
** **

And out came an unrestrained, relieved sob.  ****  
** **

Therion did not know how long his body was wracked with these specific sobs, but it showed the extensive time Therion had kept his doubts and concerns guarded to himself. They came in pounding waves, over and over as Therion emptied himself of everything that had held him back. His tears beared resemblance to the babbling brooks of the Riverlands, unending in nature. And all the while, he was keenly aware of Alfyn holding him close not once letting go. His hands massaged away building doubts and concerns, filling their spots with love and drying his tears. His voice reached his ears, whispering nothing but “I love you’s” and “you’re not alone’s” to fight the demonic voice that had haunted him for so long. His heartbeat gave Therion something to anchor himself in reality; to synchronize his newfound heartbeat and be supported with. ****  
** **

Eventually his sobs morphed into hiccups, then soft whimpers, and finally nothing as the only other noises in the room became their breathing and the crackling of the dimmed fire. Alfyn’s heartbeat no longer beat hard against his ribcage, but rather a smooth rhythm. It delivered Therion a relaxing sensation to match the overall exhaustion that had taken the place of unending negativity. It encouraged him to close his eye and let his body claim the rest it so craved. Yet Therion was aware enough to discourage the thought. He knew what would happen if he allowed himself to enter his nightmares again. Alfyn seemed to notice this, for one of his hands entangled itself into his hair and began to massage it gently. It was his normal method of coaxing Therion to sleep. ****  
** **

“You should get some rest,” he whispered after a long while.”It’s been a long day, and there’s plenty more to do tomorrow.” Therion slowly shook his head.  ****  
** **

“I’m not tired,” he mumbled in response, cursing the exhausted inflection it gave off.  ****  
** **

“You can’t avoid sleep forever, Therion. Your body’ll give out. I don’t wanna hafta play apothecary Alfyn on ya.” ****  
** **

“Even so, I refuse.” Therion moved his head so that it was placed against Alfyn’s shoulder to avoid the calming thumps of his heartbeat.  ****  
** **

“Would ya like t’tell me why so that I can help?” Therion sighed softly. ****  
** **

“The nightmares.” Even if Alfyn had comforted him while he was awake, it did not spare him the night terrors that caused his exhaustion and hallucinations. Alfyn could not place himself in Therion’s dreams, as hard as he wished it so. The best he could do was lay with Therion until he fell asleep again, which often took a long while. Yet this took a toll on Alfyn’s health; his concoctions would be sloppier the next day or his attacks would be weaker against enemies. Each member of their group was crucial to the battlefield; a hindrance to one was a hindrance to all, especially with Alfyn as their primary healer. ****  
** **

“Y’know I’ll lay with ya until ya fall asleep.” ****  
** **

“Not when you’ve wounds to heal tomorrow, no you’re not. You need to get your own rest. I’ll be alright by the fire for the night.” ****  
** **

“Too bad, Therion. You ain’t convincin’ me otherwise. Now, close yer eye.” Therion gave a final noise of discomfort before shutting his eye. Alfyn was as stubborn as Therion was when it came to these matters, if not more. At once, a familiar languid feeling overcame Therion, enticing him into slumber. Hard as he attempted to fight it, he could not ignore the semblance of peace it gave him. The environment around him began to fade, leaving Therion to enter his nightmares once more. The figure of his hallucinations was already in the corner with the same invidious smile, beckoning him to walk over and endure another night of torture. But something was different. For when Therion tried to walk over and accept his fate, a strong pair of arms held him back and pulled him close. It was the same arms that bound him presently to his shoulder and eased his path to slumber. Therion could not help but exhale and relax further into Alfyn’s shoulder, his breath becoming more even with each inhale. ****  
** **

For the first time since Quarrycrest, Therion experienced a full night of sleep, with no nightmares to interrupt or give him a reason to guard his heart again. ****  
** **

* * *

“...And you’re confident in this? You haven’t gotten a lot of sleep yourself, Cyrus. You could be losing it from the exhaustion.” ****  
** **

“Primrose, I’m the only other person crazy enough to stay awake late into the night. My studies have far more importance than any amount of sleep I could garner. I know what I heard last night. I even wrote it in a tome, if you need more evidence.” ****  
** **

Therion did not open his eye. He did not move a muscle. He could barely make out the voices within his vicinity, on the verge of droning them out as he returned to his slumber. He had a sense of warmth covering every inch of his body. Even his face gathered the same feeling, pressed against something secure and reminding him of grassy fields. He let himself snuggle against the secure figure supporting him -- sleepiness outweighing the idea of transferring into the cold -- and let his ears listen to the remainder of the conversation. ****  
** **

“I don’t need your evidence. The swath of blankets stolen from the innkeeper is enough for me. Besides, look at the circles underneath Therion’s eye. They scream exhaustion.”  ****  
** **

“Well, what is the logical course of action? Everyone else is prepared for the day ahead. We’ve a long day ahead of us if we’re to set up camp at the edges of Northreach by nightfall.” Beads and other decorations jingled briefly. ****  
** **

“Let’s leave them be. Call off our travels until tomorrow.” A sputtered noise came out in response. ****  
** **

“Primrose, surely there’s a better course of---” ****  
** **

“This course of action is fine and the most logical, thank you for your concern. Just look at them. I’ve never seen Therion sleeping so peacefully in all of our days travelling together. Even on other days where Alfyn has comforted him until dawn, Therion’s always been exhausted and guarded. But both of them look positively relaxed together.” Therion’s breath hitched in realization. A soft giggle. “One could even call them adorable.” ****  
** **

“Adorable means nothing when there is a thief running a tyranny further north.” ****  
** **

“Maybe not. But, if what you said is correct, then they likely dealt with some heavy issues last night. That would have kept them up longer than necessary.” A pause. “If I went to get Olberic right now and he saw their states, pray tell me, what would he say to do?” A moment of silence before an exasperated sigh in response. ****  
** **

“...I’ll tell the others to put their weapons away and take the day to themselves.” ****  
** **

“Now that’s the logical course of action, Professor. Let’s go before we disturb them.” Footsteps echoed in the distance before silence reigned. ****  
** **

Therion exhaled, heart beating with more rhythm than normal for the morning. He let himself relax completely against him, arms wrapping around his waist and keeping him further anchored. A small smile crept upon his lips as his mind began to drift again. This time, Therion did not have the option to return to the figure, but rather to an open riverbank somewhere outside of Clearbrook. The sun was radiant yet gentle in its presence. Water flowed alongside Therion’s steps, calm and clear. At the center of it all was an apothecary dressed in green, satchel in hand and equipped with a smile. His eyes met with his own, beckoning him to approach and be embraced by his strong arms. To gain the same look of satisfaction as he would in the inn, or anywhere else their travels may take them. Therion stepped into his embrace willingly, ready to understand the sentiments that he had lost long ago. ****  
** **

_ Alfyn...thank you for staying by my side. _


End file.
